


Motivation

by firenewt



Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M, Gift Fic, Light Angst, Prompt Fic, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 16:59:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17871170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firenewt/pseuds/firenewt
Summary: Hollander is inspired to make some changes in his life, and crosses off the days to a special meeting.





	Motivation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lunafrak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunafrak/gifts).



> Written for FVII Rare Pair Week 2019, Day 5. The prompt was "emotions".
> 
> The phrase "life, the universe and everything" is the title of a book by Douglas Adams.
> 
> Written for lunafrak (on tumblr), who always wishes for Hollander content.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: Thanks to Square Enix for letting me play in their world.

Motivation

 

_boosh boosh boosh boosh!_

The steady rhythm of his feet on the treadmill seemed particularly loud today. The incline the machine had set for him was no greater than usual, but the pace was a bit faster, and after forty-five minutes each step took more and more effort. He looked down, watching the toes of his sneakers appear and disappear as his feet moved forward and back. The program warned him that both the angle and pace were about to increase, as he headed into the last leg of his workout. 

He started to breathe faster and more deeply, deliberately increasing his oxygen intake, not caring that he sounded like the 5:30 p.m. commuter train from Sector 5, overloaded and groaning as it pulled into the main station. Sweat poured down his face and trickled down his sides, and he cursed that yet again he had forgotten to put his sweatband on before he started. He shook his head and drops flew, but his eyes still stung. He closed them and clutched the pulse grips and kept going.

Each step was harder and harder, but the belt kept moving and if he faltered he’d have a serious problem. Once before he had somehow got his feet tangled up, stumbled and lost the rhythm. There was no saving himself from flying off the side of the deck and landing in a crumpled heap. He blamed it on getting used to wearing running shoes, which were so much heavier and more awkward than his usual sandals. But it took him a week to recover from that fall, and he couldn’t afford that kind of down time right now.

He gritted his teeth and ignored a twinge in his right carotid and then suddenly he was at the top of the virtual hill and the intense effort needed to keep moving forward eased. He let out a huge _whuff!_ as the pressure on his legs and lungs lessened, and he entered the downhill section and the cool-down walk. 

Finally the monitor beeped, the belt slowed to a stop, and a message flashed on the LED screen. _End of workout. Congratulations! You did great!_

Wheezing, he unclipped himself from the safety key. Holding onto the side bar, he carefully stepped off the machine, moving slowly to accommodate his leaden legs. He grabbed a towel and wiped his streaming face, then slung it around his neck and wobbled into the adjoining room, heading for his desk and his comfy padded office chair. 

Flopping down in it, he leaned back, still catching his breath, occasionally taking a swig from his water bottle with the Shin-Ra logo on it, and wincing as he toed off his shoes. Wiggling his toes in blissful freedom, he treated himself to a pink grapefruit facial cleansing cloth, scrubbing it over his face and neck and into his hairline. It was very refreshing, and his little reward for completing another workout. 

When he felt moderately restored, he pushed himself to his feet and toddled back into the other room, which doubled as a workout space, kitchenette and sleeping area for those times when he pulled an all-nighter on a current project. He opened the freezer of the small fridge, moved aside various frozen samples, and stood looking sadly at the small stack of individually portioned meals. Finally he chose the honey balsamic chicken and popped it into the microwave. While he waited for it to cook, he wiped down the treadmill; reset and turned it off; stripped off his sweaty t-shirt; and dried his armpits. The microwave dinged. His stomach growled as he pulled the bowl out with a silicone lab mitt and took it back to his desk. 

He glanced at the clock. He had an hour to eat his lunch, shower, and go over his report before having to present it to the various members of the Science Department. That did not fill him with joy. Of course, Hojo would be there. And of course, he would have some zingers ready for the Q and A afterward. 

That didn’t concern him overly much. He knew his stuff, and was prepared. What was hard to take was Hojo’s supercilious manner, his snide expression, his mocking tone. Hojo considered him a joke, and took every opportunity to make him aware of it. When he looked out at the audience, he felt like he was standing on a tiny ledge, with a sea of smiling, bloodthirsty rats just waiting for him to slip and fall so they could swarm over him and pick him to pieces. Actually he’d rather deal with rats. They occasionally bit and could be cranky and temperamental, but they weren’t cruel.

No one teased him outright, but he knew they were thinking it. Fat Hollander. The Slob. In silent reaction he had decided that, if he was going to be singled out anyway, he would not conform to the rest of the herd: he made a point of wearing his t-shirts and casual pants and lab coat and sandals as his uniform of defiance. He held his head up and went about his business and ignored the looks and comments, the snickering and elbowing that went on behind his back. But that didn’t mean he didn’t notice, and that it didn’t hurt.

Once he had been young and given little thought to physical health. It was something he took for granted. He had been fit and, while not slim, was in proportion to his height and carried his weight well. That was when he had started at Shin-Ra, a young and ambitious scientist with big ideas. Those were the days of excitement and energy and endless possibility. He had met Gillian Hewley, likewise a rising star with a brilliant mind and the technical skills to match. The two of them spent many late nights talking into the wee hours, planning and dreaming, and then came the opportunity to actually make those dreams a reality. They had decided that Gillian would take the point on presenting their proposal to the company. Her charm and enthusiasm had carried the day, and suddenly they were on top of the world, playing at being gods, creating Life. 

When it came time to put the final phase of their experiment into play, such was their confidence that it was only natural to use their own child as one of the first beneficiaries of the new technology. They would be the parents of a whole new phase in human evolution!

While Gillian was pregnant, they went through all the usual experiences that expecting parents did, but with the added pressure and thrill of also being the co-creators of a new _type_ of life. He had gone out at 2 a.m. to find whatever Gillian was craving at the moment, then made careful notes in his journal about what and how much she ate. He nursed her through severe morning sickness for months, but insisted that her physical measurements be checked every day, and personally drew her blood and tested her biochemical parameters. He _oohed_ and _aahhed_ with her over each ultrasound, but sat up at night analyzing the results of the genetic material they had collected from each amniocentesis, while she got her rest. He went with her to all the pre-natal classes, and was by her side every minute of her labour and delivery, supporting and encouraging her and gladly taking the brunt of her screaming curses, as they had agreed that she would have a totally natural birthing process so as not to influence the baby at all with any drugs. And he had done whatever he could, often none of it right, as she suffered through severe post-partum depression, and her mind as well as her body healed and adjusted to the experience she had endured. 

And then it was time for her to take the baby and retire to Banora. It was part of the plan, to have the child raised there, and of course, she needed to be with it. But it tore his heart out to see them go. Yes, he would get regular reports, and video chats, and would go down there for visits, but it was not nearly the same as being there every day with both of them. He was effectively cut out of their lives. He was left with a laboratory and an apartment that were too empty and too quiet. His colleagues, jealous of his success and position, tended to avoid including him in any social activities. His work was not enough to occupy his mind and he brooded alot. The sympathetic baby weight he had gained during Gillian’s pregnancy stayed with him and became his insulation against the world. By the time he managed to climb out of the depression he had fallen into, he had morphed into someone he hardly recognized. 

Over the years he had adjusted, physically and mentally, and his work became his main focus. Visits to Banora became fewer and fewer as Shin-Ra expanded and his work load increased, and when his son came back to Midgar to start his SOLDIER training, he had even less incentive to go there. Gillian seemed content where she was. As Angeal, and Genesis, grew and developed, she became less and less enthusiastic about continuing their work, and more and more concerned about the possible negative effects of their research. This led to several heated arguments, and finally seasonal greetings had become the extent of their communications for the last couple of years.

His life was full, really, but he missed her more than he would admit. Missed not only her intelligence and sharp wit, but the comfortable silences they had shared, and the times when work was put aside and they were just two people cuddling on an old couch, eating popcorn and watching bad movies while trying not to fall asleep.

One day, Hojo made a disparaging comment to the effect that he was washed up and fat and old. He didn’t let Hojo see how stung he was, but that afternoon he sat alone in his lab and pondered his life, the universe and everything. After getting past his wounded feelings, he became indignant and angry. That was rich, coming from a man so much older than himself and whose physique was less than attractive! And he had _two_ success stories to show for his work, instead of only one, with many more projects cooking on the Bunsen burner, so to speak! And besides, Hojo may have actually married _his_ research associate, but Gillian had never cuckolded him (with a Turk no less! he shuddered in disgust) and then deserted him. She loved their son and was actively involved in raising him, and he continued to have a relationship with her that was at the least cordial, if not more. He would show Hojo that he was dead wrong and make him eat his words!

The next day he bought a pair of running shoes; cleaned out his snack drawer and made some cadets very happy; and had Housekeeping come in and clean his quarters from top to bottom. It was time for a change.

Initially he had made use of the company gym, but stopped going there quite quickly. It was usually filled with young, depressingly super-fit SOLDIERs and Turks, without an ounce of fat on them and no idea what it was like to be winded after one flight of stairs or to have to work one’s way gradually out of bed in the morning, and pause for a minute after standing to get all one’s joints sorted out and cooperating before moving. Fortunately, his position gave him enough pull to get a treadmill installed in his lab area, and he could huff and puff and sweat and grunt to his heart’s content, without worrying about who might be listening or what he looked like. 

It was hard, lonely work. But after losing twenty-five pounds, he felt good. His mood improved, and he seemed to be getting more done each day. Physically and emotionally he felt lighter. No one really noticed any difference, as he kept his lab coat on all the time, but he knew, and that was enough. 

Then he set himself a new goal. Angeal would be going to pay his mother a visit soon. Genesis would be going, too, to visit his family. It got him to thinking. He hadn’t been to Banora in a long time. He had a lot of holiday time accumulated. No one could fault him for taking a break, and it was nobody’s business what he did with his time off. Maybe it was time to rekindle things with Gillian. The thought filled him with unexpected happiness and anticipation.

Finally, he made a decision. He circled the day Angeal was to leave on his calendar in red, knowing that he would be expected to see both boys off, so no one would give it a second thought. Then he upped his workout schedule; and spent some time browsing on-line for a couple of new outfits that did not include t-shirts and sweatpants; and searched LOVELESS Avenue for a suitable gift for his lady love.

And now he was only a week from Departure-Day. Despite his determination to stick to his regime, he wished he had a plate of lasagna and a big bowl of chocolate ice cream with salted caramel sauce and peanuts on top. Instead, he pushed his little pieces of chicken around morosely. He had been sucked in by the words _honey balsamic_ and the picture of fresh veggies on the package, but, by Ifrit, the thing had Brussels sprouts in it! and they were the only things that seemed to have survived the freezing and reheating process intact. The rest of the vegetables were limp and shriveled, and the bits of chicken were few and far between and of a nasty texture. With a sigh, he forced himself to eat it. Nutrients were nutrients and he needed the fuel to get through the rest of the day. 

He also refueled himself by imagining the look on Hojo’s face when he came back with a tan, a natty new outfit with a jaunty hat, and Gillian on his arm. Or at least pictures of the same, if she still refused to return. He’d make sure to take plenty of the two of them together, as well as of them with the two boys. A success story all around! And he’d make sure to display them prominently on his lab bulletin board where they wouldn’t be missed. 

Yes, life was looking up, overall! He dumped the remaining Brussels sprouts in the garbage and went to have a shower, whistling all the way.


End file.
